The war within

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Yesterday I had to reach out.
For our puppies, we set up a GoFundMe, reopened the old dog-whisperer Instagram, and to schedule content properly I needed access to Facebook again.
So I reactivated the page - with the usual clean-up, because it’s still frustrating how many links to him are still there.
So much to clean out. Literally and figuratively.

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But one problem:
He was still an admin.
Shit.
Okay, remove him quickly... and then I get that fucking message:

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“He must approve the removal.”

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Are you fucking kidding me?
It’s my page.
My business.
And he has to approve?

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My first thought:
“Okay… I’ll message him.”
But my whole body froze.
No.
Fuck no.
I’m not going to ask politely. I’m not begging for something that’s mine.

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The next day: nothing changed.
Still not approved.
I couldn’t continue.

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And that old thought creeped in:
Is my life still tied to him?

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He could see everything I posted.
He could delete everything.
Once again, he had access.
Power.

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So I swallowed my ego - and my fear - and decided to message.
I had to unblock him first … which was already crossing a huge boundary.
I didn’t want my words to be twisted again.
Fuck it.
I’ll call.

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My whole body reacted.
I could literally smell fear-sweat.
My system remembered everything.

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I called.
He didn’t answer.
Of course.
Everything always had to go on his tempo.

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I texted: “Can we call?”
He answered: “What is it about?”

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Really?
Acting hard to get now?

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I called again.
No answer.
Goddammit, why is it so hard to be simple?

 

I texted: “It’s purely functional.”

He replied:
“You can call me at 14h or unless it’s urgent…”
Again his conditions.
Again my body tightened.
Old wounds.
Old patterns.
His way. His rules.

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I texted:
“It’s functional and will take 5 minutes.”

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He finally called.

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I went straight to the point — no small talk.
“Did you get a notification on Facebook? This is the issue. Can you accept it?”

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I sent him the steps.
He stayed neutral.
He sent screenshots.
He clearly had time…
So what was it?
Control, again?

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Eventually, it was solved.
Finally.

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I thanked him shortly.
Nothing more.

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A weight fell off my shoulders…
but also a little fear slipped back into my system.
A fear that maybe a tiny door had opened again.

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Because I felt something I hate to admit:
a small part of me wanted this interaction to be normal, neutral, human.
A part of me wanted proof that things could someday exist without abuse.

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And at the exact same time…
another part of me wanted proof that he hasn’t changed at all -
so that I never, ever soften my boundaries again.

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That contradiction felt confusing.
But it’s real.
It’s part of the healing process.
The mind remembers safety — even if it never existed.
The body remembers danger — even when it’s over.

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I realized:
Both parts are allowed to exist.
The longing for normalcy.
And the need for protection.
Two truths living in the same body.

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But the difference now?
I choose the path of safety.
Of clarity.
Of distance.
Because some people simply refuse to learn.

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And that’s why boundaries are not cruelty -
they’re survival.

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In the deepest part of my heart,
I still hope a lesson will someday be learned.
Not for me.
But for the sake of the world he keeps hurting.

 

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